William, it was really nothing
by Spikeyvamp
Summary: After another apocalypse is averted on the Hellmouth, Spike finds he has acquired a 'living, breathing shadow' ... bad summary but PLEASE READ :-)


**William, it was really nothing**

  
**Author**: Spikeyvamp  
**Pairing**: Spike/?  
**Rating**: R for now  
**Feedback**: Yes please, at least I think so weetabixandalcohol@handbag.com   
**Setting**: AU, Season 6 alluded to   
**Notes**:The idea is that this story is like 'The Zeppo' … the vamps and demons and Scoobies are on the periphery  
  
**Dedication**: To Buddy, who, despite knowing the contents of my celebrity shag list, still talks to me, listens to my suggestions for story titles and, surprisingly, reads my beta comments - she's also a fic-writing bully (this story was _virtually_ beaten out of me)  
Also dedicated to the man at Sony who invented the digital network Walkman and to Anthony Kiedis, without them both I'd never get to work in the morning  
  
(Thoughts are in _italics_)

_This town has dragged you down   
Oh, no, and everybody's got to live their life_  
'William, it was really nothing' ** The Smiths**

  
Part 1 

Seven days. A week since the latest mortal danger. Giles had news from London that a concentration of Skihlos demons had been detected in Sunnydale, leading the Council to believe the Hellmouth was about to be opened again. The gang was really finding it hard to rise to the threat of another battle. Since Buffy's return her sense of futility had pervaded the group but they all knew that the fate of the world rested with them. Still, it all felt so 'yadda yadda'.

They had all gathered at the site of the new Sunnydale High School. _New school, same terrors_. As they approached the principals office they could already feel the hiss and rumble of the Hell beasts and rhythmic chanting hung in the air. _ So why had it all ended so differently?_

Going in to game-face, Spike launched himself into the middle of the battle, accepting the crumbs of demon death as his chip was still active. Roaring, he swung his battle-axe but the momentum over-balanced him and he was easily taken down with a swish of tail. Spike's head smashed against the floor, and, as he lost consciousness, he was vaguely aware of someone trying to move him away from the fighting. 

"Buffy," he wheezed as the black overtook him. 

  
//   


The next thing Spike was aware of was a pounding headache and the feeling of cool marble under his body. Everything was blurry but his preternatural senses told him he wasn't alone. He struggled to sit up but was restrained by a strong yet gentle hand pushing him back down. Cool water was being splashed on his face and a warm hand moved up towards his forehead and softly swept across his brow.

"If you're feeling for a temperature Pet, you're about 100 years too late." He tried to make light of the situation but the pain was searing in his head.

No clever retort … just silence. _Had the Slayer lost her punning powers?_ Normally she couldn't resist having a dig at his expense. _What was different?_ Suddenly he was aware that the hand was sweeping down his cheek, flicking lightly at his jaw line before continuing towards his chest. Spike felt the muscles tighten, a flush of desire washing over him. He tried to focus on his 'companion' but his vision was still blurred. _Damm his weak eyes; the Slayer was here, alone with him in his crypt and he was in no position to enjoy it fully._

The hand continued on its journey down his abdomen, stopping abruptly as it reached the waistband of his jeans. Spike was confused, what was happening ? Sexual tension hung in the air, as the fingers rested, unmoving. Then a hitch of breath and the pressure was removed.

"Pet?" 

The only reply was footsteps and the clang of the door. Frustrated by his inability to follow he sank back against the cool?

"Buffy?"

  
//   


Seven days. For a week Spike had sensed someone with him; a living breathing shadow. Life had settled back into Hellmouth monotony. Patrol. Attack. Dust. Bronze. Except Spike felt uneasy in the social situations. Face to face with the others he felt lost, his shadow merged back into the group. But sitting alone in his crypt he sensed someone watching, waiting, unable to admit they wanted to be with him but equally unable to leave him alone. It felt good, like the companionable part of a relationship. Having someone 'around' for the first time since Harm.

For these reasons he'd turned down the unspoken invite to the Bronze and decided to spend some time at Willy's. At least he could down his bourbon without the accompaniment of 'eew faces'. It wasn't long before he sensed his partner. He swirled the last of his drink around his mouth before heading for the door, emboldened by the alcohol. 

Once outside he stopped to listen for the now familiar set of footsteps. They stopped abruptly at the realisation that their 'prey' had stopped too. 

"You can talk to me", Spike said, without turning, "I know who you are." 

Silence, then a crunch of gravel as his shadow moved closer.

"Didn't you get enough of my tight bod last week?" 

As the words left his lips Spike knew it was a mistake. _ Way to go and frighten her off, William,_ he thought. But he didn't hear the sound of retreating footsteps, he just felt a wisp of hot breath on his neck. His head tilted at the feeling, and he started to turn.

"Don't … don't turn round. I can't do this …" but a warm hand reached out for his shoulder, betraying the words.

Spike was startled by the voice; needing and frightened but there was something else. Something he wasn't expecting. Wracking his brain he tensed as he realised. The voice … it wasn't what he was expecting … so uncertain, a barely controlled whisper.

"Bugger this." He attempted to turn again, but the strong hand pressed down on his shoulder.

"Please … I don't know why I'm here. What I'm doing here. I jus … just know I want to be here." The voice crackled with emotion and fear. 

Slow realisation dawned on Spike . It wasn't what he expected, who he expected. It wasn't Buffy. As much as he wanted to believe, he knew it wasn't Buffy. A sense of familiarity but also something new … _someone new_.

The hand slowly inched its way over Spike's shoulder, sliding easily over the leather. Spike couldn't stop the shiver as the palm moved under his duster and brushed over his chest finally coming to rest with fingers brushing his abs. Unconsciously he stepped backwards towards the warmth.

"Don't you want to hold me?"

Silence punctured by laboured breathing.

"Please … don't speak. I need to do this my way." 

"Well, Pet, I ain't got all night. Places to go … demons to kill." Spike regretted the words immediately and cursed the impatient side of his demon. 

"Is this just a joke to you?" The arm stiffened and the hand twitched on his stomach. "I could just leave."

"Don't." A cold hand clamped it in place.

Spike felt the body behind him tense and he moved back into it. Again, no signs of recognition. No frailty; the frame seemed strong and large. _Who_? The air thick with arousal. He didn't need his vampiric senses to tell him that … it was telegraphed from the body behind. He fought to gain control over his demon although there was now a little fear at the unknown quantity. If they meant him harm they'd had plenty of chances in the last week. Spike decided to use the softly softly approach; an approach totally alien to him.

"Spi … I don't know why I'm here. I'm happy now and I'm just about to screw it up."

Again Spike attempted to turn.

"Don't." Pleading this time "I just want to …"

The sentence hung in the air unfinished as Spike reached round for the other arm. The breathing quickened as Spike gripped the wrist with his cold fingers. He'd never grow tired of the feeling of heat against his cool skin, wondering whether it felt the same to his partner. Using his own weight he bent it around his waist. _Ok, wait for them to calm down, don't push it_.

"Ok Pet, we'll take it nice and slow. You're in control." 

His soothing voice elicited a reaction from his passive partner. The arms relaxed against the vampire, one hand starting to trace a lazy pattern over his hip. Spike couldn't remember the last time he had had such an erotic encounter. Fully clothed, his body reacted purely to the breathing and tentative touch . A gnawing ache suffused his abdomen, needing more, more contact. The fingers at his hip began to travel towards his groin, jumping slightly at the bulge beginning to grow. One, then two fingers stretched outwards, lightly brushing his trapped length before tentatively tracing the outline of his balls through his jeans. Despite the thick fabric, Spike began to reel from the sensuality of the moment. All the while the breathing beat out a hypnotic rhythm; drawing in the vampire's unique scent, alcohol, tobacco … power. 

Fighting to control the desire to turn and grab the person behind him, Spike stepped back against his companion, lightly grinding his ass across their groin. This time it was Spike who stiffened. 

"Bleedin' hell," he shouted as he started forwards, turning slightly. 

The young man was running away. Spike had driven him away. It wasn't that he objected to the idea. _God, twenty years at Angelus' beck and call was testament to that_. It was just a surprise. For a week he'd imagined that Buffy had finally given in to her desires. That Buffy had dragged him from the clutches of the Hell Beast. That Buffy had tenderly mopped his brow and sat with him until he reached consciousness. That she'd followed him, uncertain of how to proceed. But …

'Xander ? Xander!' But his cry just echoed in the empty alley.

TBC


End file.
